


Fortunate Son

by rainbowdracula



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Experimental Style, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Non-Chronological
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowdracula/pseuds/rainbowdracula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Captain walked ahead, and the Asset followed behind.</p><p>Bucky's mind through the past seventy years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortunate Son

**Author's Note:**

> Rewrite of a previous story. This was an absolute bitch to format.

— _he's been out of cryofreeze for too long_ —

Brooklyn ( _France_ ) is covered in snow and Steve is skeletal thin ( _bigger than Bucky now._ ) They share a cot in their tiny apartment ( _tent_ ) and Steve is coughing ( _breathing even._ ) Bucky was curled around him, but he couldn't sleep. The wind ripped through the paper-and-wood walls ( _thin canvas_ ) and chilled Bucky to the bone. Winter came hard to New York ( _Western Europe_ ) and Steve had gotten pneumonia (big and famous and vulnerable) and Bucky didn't know how they were going to survive this winter— _this war_ —

They ripped him out of cryofreeze.

The Asset spilled out of the freezer, water dripping from his long, ragged strands of hair. He was unceremoniously hauled up and thrown into the electroshock chair. The Asset didn't fight it. His thoughts were static, TV snow drifting down and down and down—

"Миссия."

Yes. His mind cleared. They gave him a gun and a target and a timetable. Yes. He knew what to do, what he has always done: there is a man, he has a gun. Everything moves forward in a line.

Then there was a bridge and

Bucky?

            _Bucky_?

                        **_Bucky_**?

Who the Hell is—

Steve walked in front of him, ratty winter coat hanging off his frame. His hair was brilliant gold, everything around him a blinding white. Bucky followed behind like a long shadow.

"Come on. Steve, it's freezing out!" Bucky complained. Steve laughed, bright and bold.

"I'm sick of being holed up in the apartment, Buck," Steve said. "Wanted some fresh air for once."

Bucky smiled. They had been spending all winter inside their miserable little apartment, curled up together on their pushed together cots to stay warm. They couldn't avoid the outside forever, and besides, Christmas was coming. Can't be miserable during Christmas, even if they couldn't do it properly.

Steve turned to say something to Bucky, before the door to the building in front of them burst open and little Patrick from down the street came barreling out, panting and wide-eyed.

"What's the matter?" Steve asked. "Did someone die?"

"The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor," Patrick said, and all the air drained out of the city. "America's going to war."

Bucky looked over at Steve and the clenching of his jaw. Panic rose up in his throat.

— _then wipe him_ —

Mud and slush stuck to Bucky's boots. He had a rifle in his hand. In front of him was Steve (Captain Rogers), bold and beautiful and golden. The other day, they had come to take photographs of him, and they filmed him laughing, and called him a hero. Everywhere knew who Captain America was, and wanted to keep him for themselves.

The darkest part of Bucky's heart long for their tiny apartment in Brooklyn, where Steve was his and only his. Captain America belongs to everyone, Steve had said, but I belong to you.

Bucky knew it was the other way around. He'd walk through Hell for Steve, glorious or not.

"Love you," Steve would say in the blackest part of the night, and Bucky believed it deeper than gospel. ̓αγαπάει Πάτροκλα ̓Aχιλλεύς—

Hell came in the form of a rocketing train. There was a mission, and Steve walked first. Bucky followed behind, like he always did. He bore Steve's shield, and fell down and down and down—

— _you shall be the new fist of hydra_ —

̓αποκτείνει Πάτροκλα ̓Aχιλλεύς.

The Asset was told his assignment and the timetable. He put on his tactical gear and his weapons, and they put the Asset in a disused office building across from a little park. He was to make a car accident. There was snow on the ground. The sky was a flat gray.

The Asset waited. The team assigned to him slept in shifts. The Asset didn't.

The car was a Cadillac, white. Two marks, one male and one female. The Asset saw the male – greying hair, a moustache. The target. He knew too much. The Asset cared not for why he was marked, simply that he was. A simple bullet to make it go out of control, and set off the explosives on the bottom. Records would be covered up. History would be changed.

There was fire, red and vivid, against the snow. People were screaming. The flat gray of the sky opened, and the sun peered through. His mind sparked, but it didn't empty.

The man on the bridge was falling into the dark waters, and the Asset followed him down and down and down

— _until the end of the line_ —

He went across the sea for war, and it took him seventy years to come back. When he did, it was springtime in New York.

Trees flowered, a riot of color against a robin's egg sky. There was laughter, and pretty girls in sundresses, and a warm sun. The busy street was lined with glass storefronts and tables with parasol umbrellas and dark red brick buildings. Everything was new and unfamiliar, from the bright colors to the clothes to the noises of cars and strange music.

It was not the Brooklyn of before, cut up into snippets that lurked in the recesses of his memory, but it could be the Brooklyn of now. There were no guns, no targets, and no timetables – just this warm day amongst warm things.

Steve walked beside him, and every time he turned his hair would catch the sun. Bucky kept close to his side, eyes darting around. There was so much to take in, from color to smell. This was not the first time Steve had taken him out of their apartment in the Tower, but this was by far the busiest place they'd been.

"Are you okay, Buck?" Steve whispered. "We can head back home if you want."

Bucky looked at him, and smiled softly. "I'm fine."

Steve grinned back.

"Good," Steve said. He pressed his forehead against Bucky's temple, open and free. "I love you."

Tentatively, Bucky reached out and gripped Steve's hand. Steve squeezed back.

**Author's Note:**

> αγαπάει Πάτροκλα ̓Aχιλλεύς - "Achilles loves Patroclus."
> 
> ̓αποκτείνει Πάτροκλα ̓Aχιλλεύς - "Achilles kills Patroclus."
> 
> Миссия - "Mission."
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://rainbowdracula.tumblr.com/)


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